


Muzzle Your Past

by Rainbow_Okapi



Series: A Mutt of a Mind [1]
Category: DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Dick Grayson - Freeform, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Mental Coercion, Mental Link, No Archive Warnings Apply - Freeform, Past Apprentice Dick Grayson, Project Cadmus (DCU) is Evil, Protective Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson - Freeform, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24822013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Okapi/pseuds/Rainbow_Okapi
Summary: (Y/N) was a Project CADMUS clone designed to be an apprentice for Deathstroke; complete with abilities to match. Years later, (Y/N) was ‘rescued’ and taken in by Dick; bonding over shared trauma surrounding the mercenary. Sadly, trauma is a hell of a teacher and it’s up to Dick and M’Gann to dip into the mindscape to reign him in.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Male Reader, Dick Grayson/Reader, Dick Grayson/You, Kon-El | Conner Kent/M'gann M'orzz
Series: A Mutt of a Mind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795408
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Muzzle Your Past

**Author's Note:**

> First Fic~ I have no idea how posting on this site works but it's cross-posted on my Tumblr at https://rainbow-okapi.tumblr.com/  
> As always Comments are appreciated!

He would do anything to open the boy up and let everything pour out. To sink his fingers in and peel every single wire, tape strip, and cemented brick from his skull. Training doesn’t break like that though. _CADMUS_ training does not crack overnight. Dick _knows_ that but it does nothing to help his patience now. All he can do is prod around old scars and hope one is tender enough to garner a reaction. Anything to bring some life back into the living doll in front of him. What does help is he’s brought along some friends, and that does wonders. He sees the worry on M’Gannn’s face before he even opens the door to their- _(Y/N’s)_ \- apartment. Mission briefing did little to soften the reality of what is to come; he felt under dressed without his costume so he focused back on the team with him. The martian brushes her hand against Conner’s in search of comfort and when they join, Dick lets the sight of support ease him. M’Gann was a pro at dealing with programming and brainwash techniques, however reserved she may be at delving into other’s minds; when her friends need her, she would be there for them. Sure, this was just another wipe of the CADMUS board, probably the worst one yet, but the procedure was clear enough. 

Dick starts with the basics when he finds the boy kneeling in the center of the living room, hands on his head and legs trembling from the stress. He tries not to think of the fact that he’s refined a list for these scenarios. He knows the boy does not see him; knows that whatever he says will be drowned in the pit of static inside his own mind. Dick settles into his role with practiced steps and focuses instead on softly circling their target on the floor. (Y/N) shouldn’t be a target, but in this state he was. Dick knows that if the wrong memory surfaces; (Y/N) is perfectly capable of being an active threat. Until the conditioning was broken, he would be viewed as such; no matter the pain it caused in Dick’s chest. 

M’Gann’s voice is wounded when she breaks the silence of the room. 

“Is this… typical behavior for him during these episodes?” Her gaze is soft yet vacant, as opposed to Connor’s taunt brow and frown. The muzzle on the boy’s face must be setting him off. Dick can never figure out how (Y/N) keeps getting it back; everytime Dick thinks he’s hidden it well enough, or downright thrown it out, the damn thing finds it’s way back to (Y/N) every time he dives too deep into his _training._ The Acrobat tests the waters of touch by smoothing his knuckles over the side of (Y/N)’s face. When he doesn’t flinch, then Dick sets to work. There’s the hint of his cheery sing-song voice when he finally answers, 

“Yes, and no,” He prys (Y/N)’s hands from their position and lets them rest in his lap before easing the boy backwards. First he works him into a seated position, before moving to manually extend his partner’s legs. “The muzzle isn’t new. Believe me, I’ve tried to get rid of that thing more than once. but- “ All movement stops when (Y/N) lets out a feral _growl_ in protest to the repositioning; Dick feels the muscles of their back go rigid under his palm and the ankle in his other hand jerks back slightly. Before he can react M’Gann steps forth. Her eyes glowed to signal her abilities at work. Dick could see the clarity burn in his partner’s eyes just in time to deflect when (Y/N) strikes against him. It wasn’t exactly clear in the sense that (Y/N) knew what was happening, but rather, he knew what his orders were. None of them were his _Handler_. None of them were the recipocator’s of the dynamic presented by the muzzle. Which meant until (Y/N) was reigned in, they would all be perceived as a threat to him. After (Y/N) was deflected, Connor was quick on his feet to dive into the fray and secure them in his arms. Enhancements aside, (Y/N) was uncoordinated in his panicked mindset, so Superboy was able to lock his arms and hold steady, despite the way (Y/N) thrashed and snarled as much as his bindings would allow. M’Gann drifted to settle behind Connor to clutch onto the sides of their target’s head, briefly stopping it from colliding with Connor’s jaw. Her eyes were still aglow and her voice echoed, but Dick knew her orders anyway. He settled a top (Y/N)’s thighs and pinned his wrists to his sides. There was barely a second to breathe and brace for the incursion before Dick was dropped into the static.

He would never be used to mental diving with M’Gann. The weightlessness accompanied by the echo that came with every synapse firing was too much. Those split seconds of sheer vertigo didn’t last however, soon he could feel a steady hand on his shoulder and a plane beneath his feet. M’Gann didn’t share the look of relief he had though, she gazed firmly ahead with barely contained fury. At the same moment he turned to follow her gaze, a harsh gust of freezing cold pressed through him. Once more, he was thankful for the Martian’s expertise. Still he shivered despite her reassurance that nothing they were experiencing was real. He exhaled through his nose and counted to 5 before opening his eyes. They weren’t anywhere he recognized. 

The set up of the small room they were in was nicely furnished, if a bit minimalist. A bunker of some sort based on the concrete chamber and whoever decorated it was at the very least trying to make it cozy. There was a militaristic aura to the entire space that couldn’t be ignored, and it had Dick reeling because he _knew_ exactly the context of _why_ . The man behind it all was leaning in a steel doorway; smug. Like the fact that (Y/N) was kneeling in the center of the room exactly as they found him earlier was something to be proud about. Because Deathstroke was always _so damn proud_ when he got his way. Dick bit down the panic and his hand itched to draw his escrima sticks for some sort of defense. He tried to recall whether he showed up in the mindscape in his Nightwing suit or did it just materialize when he felt self conscious? 

Miss Martian cut into his internalized debate with a sudden edge, “Nightwing, focus. Our goal is to isolate (Y/N).” 

Deathstroke cocked his head to the side, and Dick felt something stir in his gut. He found himself repeating the reassurance he was given and met Slade with a leveled look. In a wordless motion, he drew a worn quilt from off the meticulously made bed and draped it around the boy’s shoulders. (Y/N)’s hands fell to his lap when his shoulders began to tremble. Miss Martian knew what was going to happen; they both knew. Dick let his hands linger on (Y/N)’s shoulders, drew them languidly closer to his neck and let his finger’s toy the raised neckline of the boy’s combat suit. The room became warmer. 

Nightwing used the boy’s shoulders as a springboard and could only snap in satisfaction when his foot connected with Slade’s jaw. Dick was ready for this; had made himself a home for (Y/N) and since he knew none of this was real- Slade drew one of his swords and jabbed forward from where he staggered. They danced in that oh so familiar fashion of skill, purely because Dick enjoyed the rush whenever he landed a solid hit and relished in bitter satisfaction when he tackled Slade out the door frame. 

It was a battle for dominance; Dick knew that. When they left that little concrete cell, the world shifted. Everything that (Y/N) was came back to Slade. CADMUS made sure of that much. They had _made_ (Y/N) for Slade. Where Connor was given a generalist education during creation, (Y/N) was brought up to speed on combat tactics and anatomy. M’Gann had been as straightforward with that information as possible when (Y/N) offered his thoughts for consultation. Even as his voice shook and his throat tightened, he approached M’Gann and admitted the painful truth. The Young Justice team may have separated (Y/N) from his Handler and given him a home. They may have integrated him into their team and taught him how to be just a human, instead of the tool of war Slade believed him to be, but in the end, (Y/N) was not free. 

The dueling pair was now clashing along a rocky outcropping. He tried not to dwell on the bitterness in his swings. Dick knew damn well where this was. He could see the same rock where he nearly got sniped on. He could see exactly where (Y/N) was too. There was a perfect little niche nestled in a hard rigid with just enough space for the _young_ apprentice. The shots had clipped his arms and cost him the fight at the time. Luckily, it wouldn’t be revealed until later, but (Y/N) was supposed to cripple his legs with the shots instead. Obviously not permanently but enough to put him out of commission for a while. Dick narrowly avoided a low sweep of Slade’s leg only to be knocked back by a harsh punch. His back collided with that same fucking rock, the same way it happened all those years ago. It didn’t hurt and he didn’t falter. Instead, Nightwing flipped up on top of the rock, the same as before. This would be different; this would be revenge. The shots rang out but not for him. This place was the beginning of (Y/N)’s discovery process. It would be the end for his conditioning as well. Slade crumbled to the dirt, but did not dissipate. No, the mercenary chuckled despite the crimson leaking from his abdomen and thigh. Fatal marks given by the amount of blood. Hard earth flecked the orange and black mask when it was removed and Dick remembers that he never could brace himself enough for the full weight of Deathstroke’s gaze. His one eye always seemed to bore right through him, picking to the smallest traces of thought and-

Another shot rings out and Nightwing watches with a wince as crimson pours from Slade’s right shoulder. He hears M’Gann yell after (Y/N) but the boy connects faster than she can react. A hardy kick nearly spends the mercenary face-first into the dirt. Dick’s vision is once again focused on black and orange, but the sight warms instead of cools. (Y/N)’s placed himself squarely between the two, pistol aimed true on the middle of Slade’s forehead. He’s still in Slade’s colors though and the black dog helmet does make Dick worry just the slightest. The fucking dog helmet never really sat well with him anyway. It had the same shape as a pitbull. _How fitting for (Y/N)._ Dick feels impatient, like they don’t have much time, or at least, realistically they shouldn’t.

“Put the gun down, Little Pup” 

Dick chokes at the use of the trigger phrase, (Y/N) does too. Even as his hand loses it’s steadiness, the gun does not lower.

“(Y/N) don’t-” M’Gann’s finally caught up and assessed the scene. Her voice was so soft compared to the carnage. Slade interrupts with a bite to his words and Dick finds himself flinching. 

“Apprentice, I gave you an order!” 

Dick wants to intervene but there is a burn in his arms and a heaviness to his legs. It takes too much energy to breathe. “Nightwing-” Now M’Gann is worried about him too. Was it always so cold out here? 

“Obey, Little Pup.” An order. The focal point of (Y/N)’s _programming_ . 

There was too much noise. There were so many things happening all at once. Dick had tried to speak, tried to move. M’Gann was yelling, something about finishing this. The gun was lowering. 

It took too long to register the snap of bones. How Slade slumped down at (Y/N)’s feet. The gun was down. (Y/N) wasn’t moving. Dick was _freezing_ . 

When he comes to grips with himself, Dick knows they aren’t in the outcrop anymore. They’re back at (Y/N)’s apartment. M’Gann seeming just as shocked as he felt. (Y/N) is still with them, though frozen as he seemed. The gun is barely being held. 

“I thought-” M’Gann’s voice was so quiet, “I thought if I ended the fight…” She drifts gently and covers the few paces to stand before the boy. “It wasn’t enough. The trigger phrase was said.” She gazes into the helmet as if she can read (Y/N) through it. She probably does anyway because her face falls into discomposure. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.” 

“What- what’s going on?” Dick doesn’t bother berating himself over the stutter, because he focuses on the next step. “M’Gann?”

She obviously doesn’t want to say it, but she steels herself and does anyway with a forceful voice.

“I only succeeded in destroying what control Deathstroke had over (Y/N) as a person. This conditioning- it’s too deep. It’s written into (Y/N)’s very personality. He’s not detached from it like Red Arrow- or Connor- was. It would take days to even begin to remove it and even then, I wouldn’t trust myself to catch everything-” She cuts herself off. And starts just as abruptly, “It would be easier to just add a new Handler to associate the words to.” 

Dick hates the way he locks up; mind racing and neglecting the physical body. Her words echo but he heard them clear. He understands, even if the weight threatens to make him choke on his words. 

“You want me to be his Handler instead.” It’s not a question, but it sounds like one. She looks so distraught. It shows in her voices like she’s just trying to convince not only him, but herself as well.

“All you have to do is activate a bond with (Y/N). You already have a connection with him anyway.” She smiles with an odd warmth, like an old childhood memory just came to mind. “You both care about each other. (Y/N) thinks so much about you. He risked everything for you back there… And he did it again, because his love for you is greater than the fear of punishment.” Dick does wince at the reminder of the punishment (Y/N) must have gotten for saving him that day, in the outcrop. He takes in the sight of M’gann and the still form of (Y/N) to ease the guilt. Part of him wonders if (Y/N) even hears them at all but with the way M’gann glances between the two of them; he let’s her words sink in with fondness. “I know he would be proud to call you his Handler.”

They let a beat pass. It’s not tense but it’s not comfy either. Dick takes the time to stand before (Y/N) and take the gun from his grip. It doesn’t look right when he sets it by the TV but Dick forces his attention to the task at hand. Returning to position before (Y/N), he sets to work feeling for the catches at the back of the helmet. It comes off with a hiss of air and the sight of (Y/N)’s face draws a breath out of him too. He was met with a face as impassive as his body language, with vacant eyes. Maybe the pain was too evident on his face since M’Gann speaks again, sad, but hopeful. 

“Once you take command, I’ll wrap up everything as neatly as possible. It shouldn’t affect him too much. Do you have any suggestions?”

Now that pulls Nightwing from his thoughts. He barely manages to keep his voice level. 

“Suggestions?”

“Yes, I’ll be adding some mental suggestions for (Y/N) to keep him safe while I work. While I can’t make (Y/N) completely forget the trigger phrase, I can take away or change the demands that come with it.”

He’s frowning and he doesn’t know why. The Idea of manipulating (Y/N) like this made his gut tighten. It just felt wrong, no matter his good intentions.

“Just, try and make him comfortable. Let him relax for once.” 

He took (Y/N)’s face in his hands and soothed his cheek with his thumbs. He didn’t want (Y/N) to change from this. Dick just wanted him safe and happy. Yet Dick had tried for so long to lead him to that, but those eyes before him were like ghosts in his dreams. How (Y/N) always searched the faces in the room only to get disappointed that his Handler wasn’t there. How he completely froze when the one time they went on a solo mission together and he _was_ . 

(Y/N) defied everything for him. Dick let M’Gann’s words echo and warm his palms. Tactile and soft, Dick let the words curl on his tongue and put what tenderness he could into him. He could be (Y/N)’s handler and teach him how to live a life outside of firearms and combat skills. He had already made himself a home for (Y/N), let him be a guide too. 

“Little Pup, come home.” Dick barely contains his sign when the boy in his hands leans towards his right palm. He feels M’Gann place a hand on his shoulder in encouragement. When (Y/N)’s eyes flutter slowly, he feels so much lighter. The words don’t burn in his throat. 

“It’s okay Little Pup. Just breathe for me.” He’s holding the boy to his chest in seconds, cradling his head and smoothing a hand down his back. There was a pair of hands grasping and pulling at his back; (Y/N) desperately clawing for purchase on his armor. Dick wants to so gently peel him out of Slade’s colors. When he draws back from the embrace to catch (Y/N)’s eyes, Dick stills at the sight of his watery gaze. They bore into him and it pulls at his chest. They’re trying to speak; lips moving but weighed down with a lead tongue. (Y/N) is terrified. He doesn’t know what’s going on and he doesn’t know how to handle the softness Dick has to offer. There was a gap of information to fill and Dick was responsible for it. 

“(Y/N). Everything is okay. I’ve got you.” His voice is the epitome of bedside manners. Which means he gets to watch as (Y/N) utterly _melts_ . Bingo~. Now he doesn’t bother to hold his breathy laugh as his hands set to work. Dick braces one against the back of the boy’s neck and smooths the other across his scalp. Nor is the new Handler shy about using the trigger phrase. It gets paired with every fluffy and light praise he can offer. M’Gann doesn’t call attention to herself as she gathers the group and begins to pull the mission to a close. The trio of heroes leave the mindscape with cheery laughter in their wake. 

When (Y/N) came to his body, He was wrapped in a pleasant warmth. Something solid was around him and underneath him. The firm hand bracing the back of his neck would tap and drag it’s digits rhythmically. Morse Code. (Y/N) nestled deeper into the hold. The scent of cologne and fresh laundry tugs a duvet over his thoughts. There was a tremble to his shoulders when the beats picked up but the arm across his waist tightened to compensate. The body beneath (Y/N) begins to rumble softly and he succumbs to the quiet joy of listening to Dick hum the tune of ‘Here Comes the Sun’. In the back of his head (Y/N) drearily ponders what Dick’s saying with dashes and dots but the thought goes as quickly as it comes. Why should he worry when (Y/N) was so comfortable in his Handler’s arms? (Y/N) finds himself humming too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking I might make a series with this. Let me know what you think. As always, Comments are Appreciated!


End file.
